


Wake Me From This Dream

by el3anorrigby



Series: A Growing Addiction [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angsty Illya, Caring Illya, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Napoleon, Light Angst, M/M, Oblivious Napoleon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 01:29:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4984645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya's angry when he finds out Napoleon still suffers from the aftermath of the electroshocks he'd received under Rudi's hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Me From This Dream

“How long has this been going on? Why you hide this from me?” Illya asks, his voice low, dangerous. He tries to keep his composure but truthfully he’s bristling. 

He’d earlier found Napoleon leaning against his hotel room wall, with eyes shut tight and beads of sweat running down his temples. He had one hand clutched to his chest. It looked like he was having a heart attack and Illya had panicked at the sight. 

Napoleon is now lying on the sofa, his arms folded at the back of his head resting on the armrest and for a person who had just been caught almost about to pass out, he surely looks smug. There is even a tiny smirk plastered on his lips.

“Cowboy, what’s going on? What happened to you just now?” Illya asks, his worry clearly showing but Napoleon only shrugs like nothing has happened.

“It’s nothing. But I’m glad you’d come to my room or else it would have been an ugly sight for anyone to find me slumped on the floor. It'll ruined my reputation.”

Illya narrows his eyes. Napoleon’s nonchalant attitude frustrates him to no end. “How can you say it’s nothing? How can you joke like this?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to joke,” Napoleon replies. He does tend to take things lightly and he knows Illya hates him for it. Illya wasn't supposed to witness what had happened to him earlier, he hadn't meant to scare Illya like that. But when the Russian won't quit and continues to scowl, expecting an explanation from him, Napoleon waves a dismissive hand at him. 

“I’m fine, Peril. It’s just one of those days. Don’t worry about it.”

But his explanation does little to convince Illya. He can see Napoleon’s lying right through his teeth and continues to probe him.

“Does Gaby know you suffer from this?” he asks authoritatively with his arms crossed against his chest. 

Hearing that, Napoleon pulls himself up to a sitting position, clearly surprised at the question. He tilts his head at Illya who’s standing at the foot of the sofa, his eyes like daggers on Napoleon. 

“Hmm, what does Gaby have to do with this?”

Illya growls through gritted teeth, exasperation taking him over. Either Napoleon is acting plain dumb or he’s taking Illya for a fool.

“Everything. Her uncle Rudi tortured you and you'd suffered from it and still do. She should at least know how her betrayal is still affecting you,” he says, his words spitting out like venom. He likes Gaby well enough but he cannot seem to forgive her for what she’d done to Napoleon. And Illya knows he has hit the jackpot because Napoleon’s eyes speak the truth even if he tells Illya otherwise. There is too much hurt in them. Anyone else might miss it but not Illya.

“Gaby doesn’t have to know. Besides, this niggling feeling I have will pass. It always does and what happened in Rome was months ago. We’re a team now, a good team. So I think we should just drop this,” Napoleon says firmly but Illya cannot grasp the fact he is simply ignoring Gaby’s part in the entire matter. It had caused him pain. And seeing him like this hurts Illya. 

“Do you take anything for it? To help you get through it,” he asks further but again, Napoleon is dismissive.

“It’s okay, Illya. Like I said, it will pass,” he answers. 

Illya stares at him and Napoleon can’t help but avert his eyes when he realises Illya’s trying to read him. He doesn’t want him to know. He’s not going to admit that he sometimes suffer from shortness of breath. Or that sometimes his muscles contract painfully or his chest hurts when he breathes. No, Illya cannot know. He doesn’t want to seem weak, pathetic. He’s a grown adult and he will handle it like the good agent he is. 

“Stubborn American,” Illya grumbles under his breath but Napoleon catches his words. He sighs. He needs to try another way to ease his scowling partner’s worry.

“Peril, do you remember a month back when you’d gotten yourself shot on the shoulder?”

Illya tenses instantly, his breath hitches. Of course he remembers that incident, how could he not? It’s one of those pivotal moments in his life and he still has the scar imprinted on his shoulder. The scar reminds him daily how Napoleon had helped him with his wound, how he’d been too close, so close to his body Illya had to hold his breath. It reminds him how his heart had done little summersaults at the sight of Napoleon’s smile, how he’d longed to pull Napoleon in his arms. He remembers the realisation of his feelings clearly, unwanted feelings he’d kept perfectly hidden, locked tight somewhere in his heart for he fears it would only do them harm than good if it ever comes to surface. But why is Napoleon bringing the matter up? He eyes Napoleon and wonders where he’s going with the conversation. 

“Illya, do you remember?” Napoleon repeats his question when Illya remains silent. He eventually nods. “I remember, Cowboy but what’s that got to do with this?”

Napoleon stands from the sofa and walks over to Illya.

“Remember when you thanked me for stitching you up and that I said you owe me one after that?”

Illya vaguely remembers that detail because it had been the least important part of his problem then. To appease Napoleon, he nods. “Maybe I remember it.”

“Well, if you do remember and if you’re my friend like I think you are, please drop this subject on Uncle Rudi and Gaby. And really, Gaby doesn’t have to know.”

It dawns on Illya then that Napoleon had never confronted Gaby about what had happened, on how he’d been tortured by her sadistic uncle. 

“You never told her, did you? About what Rudi did?”

Napoleon shakes his head and Illya feels anger rising up in him again. “Why, Cowboy?”

“It’s not important,” he says, his voice soft, his tone gentle and pleading. 

Napoleon wants to forget, that’s all he really wants and he hopes Illya would let it go as well. But it’s hard for Illya because he could clearly see Napoleon in his head, how he’d found him strapped to that chair, weak, with his eyes closed. He remembers how Napoleon had flinched when he’d freed him from his restraints. He remembers how the choked pain had escaped his lips, how his body had trembled as he helped him to his feet. Illya’s temper starts to flare again at the unwanted memory.

But Napoleon is quick to notice that flicker of anger across his face. He quickly grabs Illya’s hands in his, stills it before it could do any untoward damage. Napoleon’s action surprises Illya but he doesn’t try to pull his hand away. 

“I really do appreciate your concern, Peril, but trust me, all I want to do is to forget. Can you help me with this? That’s all I’m asking of you.”

Napoleon is steadily growing to be Illya’s weakness. He curses inwardly for not being able to deny him anything. In the end he nods but is quick to let out a warning to his partner. “But if I catch you again like before, like you’re about to die from a heart attack then I’m going to handle this my way, you get that, Cowboy?”

Napoleon can’t help but laugh heartily at Illya’s words. “Is the ex KGB’s best agent actually trying to threaten me?”

“I can handle one ex CIA thief. Is no problem for me,” he defends, his lips curling slightly at the corners. 

“Whatever you say, Peril.”

Illya realises at that moment his hands are still trapped in Napoleon’s hold. Napoleon’s laughter had died down and now he’s only staring at Illya with unreadable eyes. A strange sensation starts to settle at the pit of Illya’s stomach, a familiar feeling he recognises too well. He knows he has wandered into dangerous territory and he needs to escape before things get worse.

“Solo,” he starts but he can’t figure out what to say next. He swallows when Napoleon takes a step closer, too close until Illya can see the specks of brown in Napoleon’s blue eyes. He wonders whether Napoleon’s toying with him at the moment. He wonders if Napoleon knows. When he’s about to pull away, Napoleon pulls him into a hug. Illya’s heart lurches at his throat.

“Thanks, for helping me out, Peril,” Napoleon says, and murmurs, his voice close to his ear. “I think we’re about even with the favours now.”

Illya mutters, _‘you’re welcome’_ , pulls back from Napoleon’s arms, hesitates for a moment or two before fleeing from Napoleon’s room. His demons are well and truly back and he’s going to have to face it soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I adore Gaby and have nothing against her. In this series, the torture scene will be addressed unlike in the movie.


End file.
